


Restoration

by shadeshifter



Series: Lost Legacies [8]
Category: Angel: the Series, Highlander: The Series, House M.D., The Sentinel
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-26
Updated: 2013-01-26
Packaged: 2017-11-26 23:22:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 16,157
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/655509
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shadeshifter/pseuds/shadeshifter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Methos and Kronos move to America where Wolfram and Hart's hold has weakened and find a pair of apprentices.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Restoration

**Author's Note:**

  * For [LitaJ](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LitaJ/gifts).



> To LitaJ for reminding me that this fic actually existed somewhere on my harddrive.
> 
> The entire excuse for this fic is that I’m in love with the idea of a reformed Kronos who is no less terrifying.
> 
> I should probably also warn that I stopped watching House long before it ended and started writing this many years ago, so it's set during the Ducklings 2.0 era.

Methos smirked as Kronos pushed him roughly against the alley wall. They spent their time focusing on simple needs – sex, food, sleep, sparring. An unspoken agreement to keep a peace they knew couldn’t last.

Mortals were fleeting and fragile, and after Kronos he’d avoided Immortal relationships. Nothing could ever quite equal a bond that lasted 1000 years, as terrible as some of those years had been. Lips and just a hint of teeth pressed to his neck, just above his pulse point. Methos dropped his head back.

“I missed this.” 

Words exhaled on a breath. Kronos’s mouth disappeared from flushed skin and Methos raised his head to see Kronos looking at him. Kronos’ expression was reproving, eyes shadowed with accusations. Since Kronos’s resurrection they’d tried to start over, but their past always lurked just beneath the surface of everything they never said.

“I wasn’t the one who left.”

Kronos’s tone was distant and dangerous. It wasn’t one Methos had often heard. Usually Kronos was unpredictable passion and fire to Methos’ cool rationality.

“You denied your abilities.”

Methos backed up a step as he said it, trying to put some distance between them; physically if not emotionally. Kronos had denied him at the same time, but Methos would never say that. He knew he was weak. He needed Kronos like he’d never needed anyone else, but he wasn’t going to give his control over to Kronos again. 

“You fucked her.”

Kronos’s accusation was accompanied by a menacing step forward, but Methos held his ground. Cassandra. Methos was sure that witch would haunt them in one way or another until they destroyed each other. Somehow it was worse that she was only a symptom of a far deeper corruption to their bond. One that had been inevitable from the very beginning.

“You’d betrayed me long before that.”

Chained without shackles; Methos had been bound so tightly to Kronos that he couldn’t leave, couldn’t imagine existing without him. Methos had been a slave many times, both before and after Kronos, but he’d never felt as hopeless and beaten as when it was Kronos who controlled him. By the end Kronos had controlled everything, from what he read to who he came into contact with. It had taken decades, centuries even, for Methos to recognise his own culpability in that and what Kronos had become.

Kronos’ expression shifted into a sneer, made truly threatening by the scar that slashed across his eyes and down his cheek. Methos recognised it for the show of dominance it was. 

“Interrupted a lovers’ spat, have we?” a voice rasped from end of the alley. Kronos and Methos turned, hands on the hilts of their swords. They stood shoulder to shoulder, even with the anger and resentment that simmered between them. Two demons with mottled green skin charged at them. 

They had both been wound tight with anticipation of a reprisal from Wolfram and Hart, which hadn’t done their renewed relationship any favours. Even Horsemen couldn’t deny the Senior Partners without consequences. They drew their swords and fell into a rhythm that was instinctual, even after 2000 years. 

“You turned away from what you were.”

Kronos’ words were a snarl as his sword bit into the flesh of the demon. Pale green blood flew in an arc as he drew his sword back and prepared for another strike. Methos ducked beneath a clawed hand, only to be caught on the shoulder as the demon spun, striking with the other hand.

“I didn’t turn away from what I was, I turned back to it.” Methos’ tone was even, his expression blank, but his attack on the demon was savage. “I was a teacher and a healer and then I died. I watched everyone and everything I knew disappear, and for a long time I didn’t know why. When I finally found you, there was nothing I wouldn’t have done for you.”

Even now Methos refrained from bringing up Kronos’ own traumatic awakening to Immortality. The destruction of his village, which he’d been unable to protect, and several decades without a Guide had driven Kronos insane. After 2000 years of wandering and searching Methos hadn’t been any better. 

“You’re blaming me?”

The tone was scathing, even as they moved as one against the demons. Within moments the demons lay on the ground, unmoving as pale green blood spread beneath them. Methos found Kronos’ gaze and held it.

“We can’t continue as we have been.”

“We can’t stay here. Wolfram and Hart are still too powerful here.”

Kronos looked away, avoiding his stare by cleaning his blade in the same way that his words avoided the issue. Methos sighed, a little frustrated, but mostly tired. He copied Kronos before sliding his sword into the lining of his coat. 

“I can’t do this again.”

The words were soft and desperate. A gamble that Kronos needed him as much as he needed Kronos.

Suddenly there were fingers threaded in his hair and lips pressed against his. The action was surprisingly gentle for Kronos and expressed what he didn’t know how to say. Exposed need, apology and plea.

Methos pressed his forehead to Kronos’s and opened his eyes to see Kronos’s solemn expression.

“I think we need some ground rules.”

Kronos’s brow furrowed, his scar lending the expression an impression more of a glare than a frown. Methos would take what he could get.

“We can’t keep dragging up past transgressions.”

“You don’t see MacLeod.”

Methos could concede that point relatively easily. He hadn’t seen the Scot since he’d walked off in Paris. He also knew that MacLeod would feel obligated to go after Kronos again, and Methos wasn’t about to let that happen.

“You have to be more discreet. You can’t threaten cities and you can’t head hunt.”

This was something Methos needed more than anything else. Kronos had to learn to adapt because there wasn’t a place in the world for him anymore. For a moment Methos was sure Kronos would object. Then Kronos smiled.

“You have to hunt with me.”

“Kronos-”

“You never mentioned demons. I have a debt to repay.”

Methos rested a hand on Kronos’ shoulder. His thumb stroked the sensitive skin of Kronos’ neck to keep him focused on the present. They never spoke about the years Kronos had been dead, neither liked to be reminded of it, but Methos couldn’t ignore the dark, disturbed look in Kronos’ eyes.

“Wolfram and Hart have lost a lot of influence in America, but there’s still an extensive demon population there.”

Kronos nodded. 

It would certainly make things with MacLeod simpler. The Scot would likely stick around Europe for a few more years. The especially young always seemed to feel that Europe had more character. All the more reason to leave England behind. Methos remembered conditions so terrible that plague festered with ease, but then the majority of his life had been spent without indoor plumbing, so he had few fond memories of most places.

“Agreed, but we still have to seal the deal.”

Kronos smirked and manoeuvred Methos against the wall once more. With Kronos pressed up to him Methos could feel the rapid beat of his heart, fuelled by lust and the dregs of adrenaline. Kronos lightly scraped his teeth over the pulse point in Methos’ neck and he shuddered.

“Someone’s going to investigate the noise.”

Methos’ objection was silenced by lips on his. 

“Not in this neighbourhood.”

Kronos popped open the button of Methos’ jeans and dipped a hand beneath the waistline, palming him. Methos gasped, open-mouthed, and Kronos took advantage by engaging him in a fierce kiss. Tongue slid along tongue and teeth grazed lip. Blood teased his taste buds, bitter and sharp, and Methos didn’t know whose it was.

Before long they stood, pants around their thighs, the heated flesh where they pressed together a sharp contrast to the skin exposed to the cold night air. They rocked against each other, too rushed and unprepared for anything more intimate. 

This, Methos decided, was the point of no return. This was being with Kronos and everything it entailed. Blood and sex and death. He clung tighter as pleasure ripped through him and didn’t know if the sound he made was a laugh or a sob.

…

Methos sipped at his coffee as he stepped through the large glass doors leading to the lobby of Princeton-Plainsboro Teaching Hospital. It had been a while since he’d been a doctor, but he liked to keep up with new techniques, so it hadn’t been difficult to catch up. The job certainly hadn’t thrown him anything too surprising yet, though the initial interview had been unusual. Cuddy had been far more interested in how many malpractice suits he’d been involved in, if any, than his qualifications.

“Doctor Cuddy,” Methos greeted with a charming smile when he saw her across the lobby. He hadn’t been there long, but he was sure he had Cuddy pegged. A little charm, and as long as you followed the rules and covered well when you didn’t, she’d let it go.

“Doctor Egan,” she replied with an answering smile. “Good job with the aortic aneurysm.”

Methos shrugged. It would hardly do to tell her he’d actually had fun. Kronos told him he liked having the power of life and death; that he liked to know he could just as easily give life as he could take it away. Methos didn’t like to examine his motives too closely, not when he wasn’t sure he’d like what he saw. No matter how much he tried to tell himself that he’d changed, that Death was gone, he could never be entirely sure. Not when so many of the lessons he’d learned were because of Death and the survival strategies he used were the same as Death’s.

“Cuddy,” someone yelled from across the foyer. Methos turned to see a tall, older man limping towards them. Sentinel. Methos knew it, in the same way he’d recognised Kronos as his and Cassandra for what she was. But this one wasn’t like most. There was something subtly different in the sense he was getting. Despite himself, Methos was curious.

“House,” Cuddy greeted with an exasperated huff. Methos watched curiously. He’d heard of House, had made sure to know the significant players at the hospital, but he had yet to run into the man. PPTH was certainly going to be interesting. “What do you want?”

“This the new kid?” House asked, eyeing Methos critically. “Surgeon, isn’t he?”

“Do try not to bribe, blackmail or threaten this one into leaving,” Cuddy said, though her tone betrayed her disbelief that House would listen. Methos raised an eyebrow. Clearly there was at least one exception that could get away with anything regardless. 

“He doesn’t look like much,” House said. 

“Bribes wouldn’t go amiss, beer’s especially good, blackmail’s generally ineffective, but if you threaten me I know someone who can kill you.” After a moment Methos gave a slight shrug and an unassuming smile, to undermine the seriousness of his statement. House kept sharp eyes on Methos, critically evaluating him again. 

“He passes cursory inspection,” House said to Cuddy. He then spun with remarkable agility for someone with a cane and walked off.

“I’m sorry,” Cuddy told Methos, as she watched the retreating doctor, “he’s… difficult.”

“That’s not quite the word I would have used.”

…

House pulled his gameboy out of his pocket as he walked into the exam room. A patient sat on the end of exam table, hunched over with an arm wrapped tightly around his middle. His skin was flushed with a sheen of perspiration. 

House ignored him as he played a particularly difficult level he’d been having trouble getting past. Finally, he looked up, curious as to why the patient hadn’t tried to get his attention beyond a few pitiful groans.

“So what’s wrong with you?” he asked, glaring at the man over his gameboy.

“My stomach’s killing me,” the man groaned.

“Anything else?” House glanced up briefly before looking down again and attempting an especially difficult jump.

“Been feeling sick as well.” The man paused and House made a vague half gesture and almost grunt to persuade him to continue.

“I’ve got diarrhoea,” the man finally added with an uncomfortable shrug, embarrassed to admit it. House sighed when the words “Game Over” flashed on the screen. He’d been so close to beating his high score too.

“Lie flat,” House told the man who slowly eased himself onto his back, wincing as he flattened out. House pressed just a little too hard on the man’s abdomen and ignored the man’s wince. “Well, since you aren’t menstruating,” House said mockingly, “there’s good news and bad news.”

“What’s the bad news?” the man asked, easing himself onto his side once more.

“You have an especially bad case of appendicitis.”

“And the good news?”

“You’re not my problem anymore.”

House spun, grabbed his cane and the patient’s file, and exited the exam room. He handed the file to the nurse on duty.

“The patient in exam 3 needs to be booked in immediately. And make sure Egan gets this one,” he told her with a smirk. Egan was new and interesting, so House was going to do what he did with all things that made him curious. Provoke it repeatedly and then stand back and see what happened.

…

Methos looked over the chart. His eyes narrowed when he saw that it was House who’d referred the case to him. He tucked that bit of information away for future reference. Methos liked the challenging surgeries. Despite what Kronos said, he was certain it was just a matter of being bored. He was sure that House had sent him a simple case just to annoy him.

He looked up when he sensed another Immortal. There was a church in the hospital, so it was nominally holy ground, but Methos still kept a sword with him. His broadsword was still in his overcoat, but he kept a long sword that he could hide under his lab coat as well.

It took a moment for him to recognise the Quickening; nearly as familiar as his own. He couldn’t help the smirk that twitched his lips. A few seconds later Kronos slammed open the door. 

“So this is what’s taking up all your time?” 

Kronos’ brief glance around the office was cursory before he stalked forward, blue eyes dark with desire. Gripping the chair on either side of Methos’ head, he leaned forward and kissed him. Methos could smell the sweat and blood, though it was hidden by the black leather coat Kronos wore. That usually meant that Kronos had been hunting. Kronos pulled at Methos’ shirt, hands teasing his sides before running up his back. Methos’ moan was half arousal, half laughter.

“Kronos, I have surgery.”

“They’re mortals, they’re dying anyway.”

Kronos pulled him out of the chair, turned him around, and pushed his to sit on the desk. 

“There’s something I wanted to talk about.” 

An objection made void when Methos opened his legs enough to make space for Kronos to step closer.

“Doctor Egan,” Cuddy said as she entered, only to stop short. Methos sighed in frustration, though he wasn’t sure who he was frustrated with. Methos grabbed Kronos’ hand to stop it sliding further up his thigh.

“Doctor Cuddy,” he greeted cheerfully, trying to ignore Kronos. Kronos leaned over to bite the sensitive skin just below Methos’ ear and didn’t bother withholding his smirk when Methos tilted his head just a little.

Cuddy blinked. She opened her mouth, closed it, and shook her head. Sometimes she wasn’t sure if she was running a hospital or a high school.

“I’ll come back later,” she said, backing out. Methos rolled his eyes and glared at Kronos who smirked back, unrepentant.

“Now where were we?” 

Rhetorical, because Kronos was already undoing Methos’ belt.

“There’s a Sentinel here.” 

Kronos tensed for a moment, absorbing that information. He stepped back, hand automatically settling on his hip near the hilt of his sword. Methos gave an exasperated huff. He knew things were still a little too unstable in their relationship for Kronos to take that news well, but he’d hoped to be heard out at least.

“I’m pretty sure he already has a Guide. He’s definitely using at least some of his abilities, but he’s too stable, relatively speaking, to be without a Guide.”

A long pause in which Kronos wouldn’t look at him. Methos wished he could read Kronos as well as he used to be able to.

“So?” 

A little hostile, but willing to listen. Methos was surprised.

“I don’t think his abilities present typically. I’m curious as to whether it’s a natural evolution or something specific to him. I was hoping you’d meet him, eventually. Compare notes.”

Kronos stepped forward, sliding his hands up Methos’ thighs. He supposed he should be glad Methos had told him. If he’d found out some other way that there was another Sentinel Methos was showing an interest in Kronos would have killed the Sentinel, and probably Methos too, at least temporarily.

“Alright.” 

Kronos was surprised at the affection he felt when Methos smiled. Methos was happy, no deception or ulterior motives, simply because Kronos had agreed without argument. He slid his fingers into Methos’ hair, cupped his head, and brought him into a crushing kiss. Methos wrapped his legs around Kronos’ waist and slid his hands under Kronos’ leather jacket. 

“I really do have surgery to get to.”

A murmur, barely heard.

“As fun as cutting up mortals is, I can think of more interesting things to do.”

Methos’ sigh was exasperated but his smile was indulgent, his body pliable, and Kronos knew he was going to get his way.

…

Kronos was walking around the side of the building to the back lot where his bike was parked, still savouring the lingering feeling of Methos wrapped around him, when he noticed someone trailing some distance after him. He turned the corner and pressed himself against the wall. He waited until a man in an expensive charcoal suit walked around the corner then grabbed him and slammed him against the wall, arm across his throat.

“Why are you following me?” he demanded.

“Mr. Kaden,” the man said, voice a little breathless. “I believe that’s what you’re calling yourself now.”

“What do you want?”

“I’ve come to propose an alliance with Wolfram and Hart.”

“Not interested,” Kronos snarled, increasing pressure.

“Terms have changed,” the man gasped out, “to include Dr Egan.”

Kronos held for a moment then removed his arm, letting the man speak, though he didn’t release him entirely.

“You work with us and we’ll give you anything; wealth, power, and the freedom to do what you want.”

Kronos was tempted; very tempted. He was trying because Methos wanted him to and he needed Methos, but it was difficult. The first time Wolfram and Hart had offered him a job all Kronos had seen was an exhausted and desperate Methos. Instincts had taken over. This time Methos wasn’t in danger.

“Alex will be left alone?”

“We guarantee it.”

Kronos wanted to agree, wanted to wreak carnage without consequence, but he knew Methos would never willingly follow him. He’d already spent 2000 years hating Methos for leaving him and more time in hell than he cared to remember wanting nothing more than to be with Methos, he couldn’t stand to lose him again. 

Kronos knew that he could probably make Methos follow him, but no matter how long that lasted, it would only be a temporary measure. He may not have learned the first time that forcing Methos to do something against his will was a bad idea, but he certainly had the second. 

“I don’t think so.”

Kronos pushed away from the man and, with a great deal of willpower, left him to rub his neck. He would have dearly loved to snap the man’s neck but his position was simply too exposed.

…

House stole a chip from Wilson’s plate before Wilson realised he was there, then collapsed into the chair next to him. Wilson glared mutely at him before pushing a second plate in House’s direction.

“You know me so well, my friend.”

House’s expression turned speculative when he saw Cuddy make her way along the lunch queue. She’d been looking a little flustered for at least a day or so.

“Do you think she’s getting some?” he asked Wilson, who remained focused on his food.

“Who?” Wilson asked distractedly, paying only enough attention to keep House happy.

“Cuddy. Duh.”

Wilson looked up abruptly and scanned the room until his gaze landed on Cuddy. House used the opportunity to steal another chip from Wilson, ignoring the plate Wilson had provided for him. Cuddy glanced at the entrance, flushed and looked down. House gasped and nudged Wilson as he pointed to the entrance.

“No,” Wilson breathed.

“Did it have to be Egan?” House moaned.

“He can’t be more than 25.” He’d heard of Egan, even seen him several times, but he hadn’t actually met him.

“He’s 28 actually.”

Wilson snorted. As though that made much of a difference.

“You think it’s the stamina?” House asked. Wilson shrugged and then kicked House’s shin as Egan made his way over to them. Egan’s gaze swept over them critically before lingering on Wilson. House didn’t like the evaluating look in Egan’s eyes.

“Your appendicitis case still has a fever, nausea and diarrhoea,” Egan told him before he walked off.

“Interesting,” House murmured.

“He probably has an infection.”

“Not the patient. Egan.”

Wilson rolled his eyes and sighed. House didn’t even look in his direction.

“Drug addict? Crossdresser? Wiccan?” Wilson asked, just a little sardonically. House shrugged and Wilson accepted his non-answer. House wouldn’t tell him anything until he was well and ready. Even then, he’d make Wilson work for the punchline.

…

House tossed a copy of the file to each of his fellows. Foreman looked at him expectantly.

“Did I forget to make an extra copy?” House asked faux-innocently. Foreman rolled his eyes and looked over Thirteen’s shoulder. House uncapped his marker and stood, poised to write. “Differentials, go!”

“He’s an appendicitis patient,” Cutner ventured a little hesitantly, wondering where the interest was.

“Egan’s already taken that. Unless the patient’s an alien, he’s only got one.”

“Diverticulitis,” Cutner suggested.

“Textbook differential for appendicitis, but let’s not forget that he’s a cheery shade of yellow now,” House told him.

“Ulcerative colitis,” Taub said.

“Primary sclerosing cholangitis,” Thirteen added. House scribbled both down.

“Now we’re getting more interesting.”

“If the symptoms are abdominal pain, fever and jaundice, it could be almost anything,” Foreman said.

This time it was House who rolled his eyes.

“Don’t forget the nausea,” House added as though that would make the difference. “And would someone like to explain the purpose of a differential diagnosis to Foreman?”

The fellows looked at each other and Foreman for an awkward moment. Foreman ignored them.

“Viral hepatitis,” Taub added, before an argument could develop.

“Stomach cancer,” Thirteen said. House scribbled those down as well.

“Taub, Cutner; blood test and x-rays. Thirteen, Foreman; colonoscopy and endoscopy. And someone run a tox panel.” His fellows began to lead out. “Oh, Foreman,” House called and tossed him a file. “Looks like I had an extra copy after all.”

…

Kronos turned, cutting deeply into a fleshy pink demon. He glanced across at Methos and they grinned at each other. This was a part of Methos he’d missed, this side that could indulge in violence with free and easy abandon and not worry about the consequences.

The only problem was it made Kronos aware that Methos didn’t really need him despite what the older Immortal thought. Methos had survived and adapted to a modern world in a way that he never had. Kronos had adapted in his own way, but only to weapons, his personal favourites being of chemical and biological variety, and computers because they were necessary. The rest had pretty much passed him by.

Kronos had the vague inkling that someone or other Ford was supposed to be a popular actor and that there were a lot of bad shows on television, but he’d never had the inclination to look any further into it. He’d certainly never picked up any of the references that Methos seemed to drop with ease; the bits of pop culture that made him almost indistinguishable from all the mortals.

The last time Kronos had been to see a movie was some time in the early 1990s when he’d followed an Immortal who was trying to run from him into a movie theatre. Of course, that was changing, because Methos insisted on being up to date and Kronos couldn’t help but pick up a few things along the way.

Kronos felt claws rake at his back, and he swore as the marks burned. The poison wouldn’t kill him, but it did hurt like hell and was slow to heal. If he was lucky it wouldn’t scar, but demons sometimes had strange effects on Immortal healing.

“If you’re going to drag me out here, the least you could do is pay attention.”

Kronos grinned at Methos’ grumbling complaint, belayed by the enthusiasm with which the older Immortal slashed at the demon who’d cut Kronos. As he dove back into the fray Kronos couldn’t help but think how good it was to have someone at his back again.

The demons fell to them as, Kronos felt, everything must eventually. The grin he shared with Methos was sharp and deadly and Kronos moved forward to taste Death on Methos’s lips. The other Immortal slapped his hands away impatiently and leaned to see his shoulder. Firm hands slid his jacket off and lightly touched the skin on his back through the rips in his shirt. He twitched at the lingering, unfamiliar pain that burned across his shoulder.

“It should be fully healed in a few minutes and shouldn’t even leave a scar.”

Kronos snorted at his concern.

“I’m not one of your patients.”

“And here I was hoping to give you a full exam.” 

Kronos grinned at the hands that slid down his back, skimmed his sides and settled on his stomach with fingertips dipping below the waistband of his jeans. 

“I think that could be arranged, Dr Egan.”

Methos chuckled darkly in his ear and pressed flush against his back. Teeth scraped at the sensitive skin of his neck and Kronos shuddered in anticipation. A boldly assertive Methos was always an interesting experience. 

…

Kronos watched with narrowed eyes as Methos talked to another man. This man was the other Sentinel if Kronos’ feeling of ‘Mine!’ was any indication. Seeing Methos with another Sentinel after the renewed feeling of connection between them was like being dowsed with cold water. Shocking, unpleasant and enough to make him want to kill someone. He stalked into the clinic and came to hover at Methos’ side.

“Alex,” Kronos said, by way of preoccupied greeting. He settled a hand possessively on Methos’ hip and glared at the man who simply raised an eyebrow.

“If you’ll excuse us,” Methos said, grabbing Kronos’ hand and trying to pull him away. Kronos resisted. Methos had hoped that Kronos and House would meet under controlled circumstances, but that was clearly no longer an option. 

He glanced around quickly, hoping to catch sight of either Wilson or Cuddy – that was as much as he could narrow down House’s potential Guides. He’d originally considered one of the fellows, but none of them, not even Foreman, had the ability to stand up to House as an equal.

“Derek Kaden.”

“Gregory House.”

There was a tense pause before the two men shook hands. Methos gave up with a sigh and folded his arms. 

“I’ve heard about you,” Kronos said, stepping up to House, his posture menacing and his smile sharp. House’s eyes widened fractionally before he settled into a smirk.

“I’d say ‘don’t believe everything you hear,’ but I’m sure it’s all true.”

Methos dropped his face into his hand. He’d wanted to prepare Kronos before meeting with House, especially with how to treat him. House wouldn’t respond to intimidation and violence, in fact, he’d probably just push back twice as hard. House needed to be finessed on his own level, which wasn’t something Kronos was adept at.

“How’d you manage that?” House asked, gesturing to Kronos’ face. Kronos’ chilling smile gave him pause, but only for a moment. “Lose a fight with an ice pick?”

“It was a dagger, and I won.” Technically it had been a short sword and it had killed him, but he’d murdered the entire raiding party and then found their village and killed everyone there too. He counted that as an indirect victory.

“Derek,” Methos said with some force, “we should get going.” 

Kronos’ parting grin to House was anything but friendly. He slid an arm around Methos’ waist as they left the clinic.

“I have to work here, you know.”

Methos pulled away from Kronos as they left the building and began to make their way across the parking lot. There weren’t too many private places at the hospital and Methos did not want this conversation to be overheard.

“Exactly.”

“Are you going to elaborate on that?”

“He... They... know you’re mine.”

Methos counted to ten in his head, and then repeated the count in several other languages, both ancient and modern.

“At some point you’re going to have to actually start trusting me.”

“I do trust you.” Kronos’ tone was affronted and his body tense. “It’s everyone else I don’t trust.”

“That’s an excuse. And a flimsy one at that.”

“You’re the one who arranged my death because MacLeod fluttered his big brown eyes in your direction. Forgive me for feeling a little wary about potential threats.”

“I had two stellar choices. Kill you or become something that would ultimately kill me and, incidentally, a whole lot of other people. You didn’t give me any other options.”

It was all echoes and repetition of pain they’d inflicted millennia ago. Methos turned and walked several paces away. Kronos snarled and slammed his fist into a wall. They stood silent and separate. Finally, Methos turned to face Kronos.

“I need you. I need this.”

A peace offering. Kronos nodded, not quite an agreement, but he closed the distance and pulled Methos to him.

“House won’t respond to threats and intimidation.” A blatant misdirection from the issue, but Kronos allowed it. “You have to play at his level; the level of games, tricks and manipulation.”

“Beat him at his own game?”

“Literally.”

…

After the unpleasant and, as far as Methos was concerned, unnecessary confrontation at the hospital he’d decided to take his break early and use the excuse of getting some good coffee to walk off his frustration. It hadn’t worked out like he’d planned. He turned to look into the bookstore window. With deliberate casualness he glanced back down the street and saw someone duck into a doorway. He turned back to the window for a moment before turning away and walking into the store. 

Out of the corner of his eye he saw the man stroll past the window and walk into the store. Methos let his fingers trail over the spines of the books, unable to contain all of his curiosity, even in a potentially dangerous situation. The man stopped two aisles down and Methos read the cover of a book on Eastern European history but put it back without looking inside. 

He glanced at the man through his lashes and couldn’t help but smirk. Somehow he doubted that the man realised he was watching Methos from the alternative beliefs section and that he was holding a book on teenage witchcraft.

Watchers tended to be less obvious, and he had plenty of enemies. He also had a possessive lover who didn’t trust him. The last time around Kronos had Silas and Caspian keep an eye on him when Kronos wasn’t around. He would be disappointed but not entirely surprised if Kronos had hired someone to follow him this time around.

Methos glanced at his watch and noticed that it was almost five. He grabbed a book on the Egyptian pyramids and quickly paid for it. When he was out on the street once more he made his way to the nearest subway entrance. He wove into the crowd of people making their way home. Hunching his shoulders so he didn’t stand out, he fought his way towards the train, then ducked behind a pillar, waited a few seconds, and let the stream of people carry him back out.

…

House saw his gameboy on his desk and looked around suspiciously before going to pick it up. He was sure he’d left it in his drawer. The screen was on high scores and he saw that his own score had been overtaken by someone using the name PSTLNC.

He scowled as he looked around. He noticed Kaden walking down the hall. House’s eyes narrowed. Egan’s office wasn’t anywhere near his. House caught Kaden’s eye through the glass. Kaden’s grin was more vicious than friendly. House glared at him. 

This was a declaration of war. The only problem was he didn’t have much access to Kaden. He did, however, have plenty of access to Egan, and sometimes civilians were a casualty of war.

…

Thirteen stood at the patient’s head, feeding the tube down his throat, while Foreman stood across from her. Cutner and Taub hovered in the doorway, waiting to take the patient to be scanned. 

“I don’t get it,” Cutner said suddenly.

“You’ll have to be more specific,” Taub told him. Cutner shot him a glare.

“Egan and Kaden.” They all looked at him askance. “Oh, come on! You can’t tell me you haven’t all been wondering what’s going on there.”

“It’s none of our business,” Foreman said and Taub nodded his agreement.

“There’s no way Egan’s only a mild-mannered doctor with a boyfriend... lover...” Cutner looked uncomfortable just saying the words, “whatever... like Kaden.” He turned to Thirteen. “You’re our resident expert on all things same-sex.”

“We have work to do,” she said, not taking her eyes off the screen.

“Yeah, well, House is work, and House is curious about them.”

“Fine,” Thirteen relented, because she knew Cutner wouldn’t stop until he got some sort of an answer. “The way I see it, Kaden likes to think he’s in charge and Egan lets him. That way Kaden gets to feel like he’s the centre of someone’s world and Egan gets to feel like he can let go.”

They were silent a moment and Thirteen turned her entire focus back to the endoscope as it entered the stomach.

“But Kaden’s dangerous. Seriously,” Cutner continued. “I saw him threatening someone the other day. The guy was practically passed out before Kaden let him go. What’s Egan doing with someone like that?”

“I wouldn’t be surprised if Egan was as dangerous as Kaden in his own way. People like Kaden are only interested in two kinds of partners: those who can challenge them and those who will do anything they say. I don’t see Egan capitulating to something he doesn’t want to do.”

“Why do you think House is interested?” Taub wondered, because they couldn’t argue the relationship any further without more information.

“The same reason he’s ever interested in anything. They’re a puzzle,” Foreman muttered.

Thirteen quickly grabbed a biopsy sample to analyse and started to remove the tube.

“Or they’re actually friends,” Taub suggested with a hint of sarcasm.

“Yeah,” Cutner snorted. “And House and Wilson secretly love each other.”

Thirteen shrugged.

…

House limped down the hallway, trying to be both discreet and quick. Wilson fell into step next to him. 

“You’re in a hurry,” Wilson said. House kept up his pace.

“Yes.”

“Are you running from Cuddy?”

“No.”

“A patient?”

“No.”

“You do realise that’s the nurses’ station?”

“Yes.”

House looked around furtively for a moment before dropping into the chair.

“Keep a lookout, would you,” House said as he manoeuvred the mouse and began clicking.

“What exactly am I looking for?” Wilson asked. His tone was longsuffering but he glanced casually down the hallway anyway.

“Nurses.”

“Aren’t there supposed to be nurses at the nurses’ station?”

“Not when there’s only one on duty and her car’s being towed.”

“House,” Wilson ventured, though he didn’t take his eyes off the hallway, “what are you doing?”

“Getting even.”

“Getting even?”

“Egan’s been looking a little stressed, so I thought I’d give him a hand and rearrange his schedule for him,” House said with an affected air of concern.

Wilson rubbed the bridge of his nose.

“Is he going to find out about the change in schedule?”

“Eventually.” 

“So what is this all in aid of?” Wilson knew better than to try and persuade House to change his mind, even if Egan would get in trouble, and especially if Cuddy would come down on House for getting Egan in trouble. Wilson had long since decided that House’s sense of self-preservation went the same way as his humility, and at about the same time too.

“Kaden messed with my gameboy.” 

“Kaden messed with your gameboy, so you’re messing with Egan?” Wilson asked, trying to wrap his mind around it. He gave up with a shake of his head.

“They’re clearly having issues. So when Egan gets annoyed he’ll take it out on Kaden. It’s revenge by proxy,” House explained, as if it was obvious. “What the hell does Kaden do anyway?” House wondered. “No one with a real job could hang around here as often as he does.”

“Something shady, no doubt.”

Kaden gave Wilson the chills. There’s was something ruthless, something inhuman, about him. He couldn’t wrap his head around the Kaden and Egan dynamic and he wasn’t entirely sure he wanted to.

“He’s probably a mercenary, a ‘consultant’, a wetworks man-”

“Are you sure you want to piss off the mercenary’s toy boy?” Wilson asked. He knew House could go on for ages, so it was better to interrupt early on.

“If it pisses off the mercenary, sure.”

Wilson sighed. House had never had any understanding of consequences, and when he did he never cared, despite the consequences to the people around him.

“If he ends up like Tritter, then you’re on your own.”

“Tritter never touched my gameboy,” House growled. Wilson looked at him askance. 

…

Kronos looked at the note in his hand and then back to the quaint suburban home. Wolfram and Hart had contacted him by sending a letter to the loft he shared with Methos. He knew it was a display of power; they could get to him, could get to Methos, anytime they wanted. It didn’t stop Kronos from wanting to tear them all apart for threatening Methos and, indirectly, what they were just starting to rebuild.

He walked up to the house and saw that the door was already open. Stepping inside he took in his surroundings. The house looked fashionable and stark, it was definitely more for show than use. He swung the door almost shut and drew his sword. He might not be the kind to run from a fight, but he had inevitably picked up a few things from Methos over the years. A great many of Kronos’ plans for the future hedged on Methos having picked up his habits too. Kronos shunted all thoughts of Methos to one side. He couldn’t afford to be distracted or show weakness and, at the moment, Methos was both. 

Stepping lightly, Kronos made his way down the passage. He tilted his head to one side as he let the quiet wash over him until he could reach beyond it and pick out the sound of a boot scuffing on wood, the drone of voices pitched low, and finally the beat of several hearts. He couldn’t pick out a precise number, not without Methos, but there were definitely more than two. He paused briefly, making a mental note to start carrying a gun again. Swords were more useful against other Immortals and demons, but mortals could incapacitate him quickly enough with a gun.

Kronos stepped into the doorway and took in the five men standing around the room. There were two older men, probably in their fifties whose bearing put them in charge. The others were significantly younger, in their thirties perhaps, with the youngest at mid-twenties. 

“Mr Kaden,” one of the older men greeted.

“I’d suggest you start coming up with reasons why I shouldn’t just kill you.”

“We’ve come to make you one last offer before we ensure your cooperation through other means.”

That sounded more than a little ominous to Kronos. He walked further into the room, keeping his body language as non-threatening as it could be with his sword still drawn.

“That’s not reassuring,” he said, looking at each of them in turn. 

“It’s not our job to be reassuring.”

“So what is your job?” Kronos asked. 

“We’re here to manage a problem,” a second man added.

“Only one person manages me and I get great sex out of the deal. Somehow I don’t think your offer is comparable.”

“Very well.”

One of the older men began to chant. It wasn’t a language he was familiar with, but he recognised the cadence from Methos’s early days with him, before the Horsemen. It was a prayer or a spell; he’d never been able to tell the difference. Either way, it probably wouldn’t end well for Kronos. 

He drew back his arm, aimed and threw. His sword hit the centre of the man’s chest with a wet thud. There was silence then a bloody gurgle and the man collapsed. One of the younger men drew a gun from a shoulder holster inside his jacket and aimed. Kronos ducked and rolled, pulling a knife from his boot in the process. All Kronos had was an impression of thick, bushy eyebrows raised over surprised, inset eyes before he was up and slitting the man’s throat. 

The second older man continued the chant, but Kronos was occupied with the last two younger men approaching him. He could easily write off the youngest, whose fear was evident, and the other twirled his own blade with nimble fingers. Kronos bared his teeth at the youngest, who stumbled back, then launched himself forward once more.

He grabbed the youngest man’s wrist and turned, slamming his other hand, made more forceful by the knife’s hilt around which his fingers curled, into the man’s elbow. The man dropped to the ground with a scream, arm held to him.

Kronos spun once more, grasping his sword as he passed the first dead man. It came free with a wet slurp. Kronos circled the younger man with the knife as he studied him. Kronos lunged forward first and his opponent blocked Kronos’s knife strike and twisted to avoid his sword. 

His defence might have mattered had Kronos not had 3000 years to hone his skill. Still, the third man managed to be distraction enough that by the time Kronos eviscerated him, his movements had begun to feel sluggish and disoriented. He spun to look at the remaining old man, ignoring the youngest one who was whimpering on the ground. Pain and fear blurred the youngest man’s words until they were barely more than incoherent sounds. Kronos doubted they held much power.

“Even if you did manage to control me, how long would it last? How long until someone made a mistake, until I became immune? I’m Immortal, I’ve got all the time in the world,” Kronos told the old man. He moved swiftly to hold the man’s head then twisted sharply. He knew it wouldn’t be enough to keep Wolfram and Hart away forever, but hopefully it would do for the present. Methos was happy and Kronos wasn’t going to let Wolfram and Hart ruin that.

He glanced at the young man who was cradling a broken arm and staring at him with terrified eyes. Clearly he hadn’t been at Wolfram and Hart very long.

“Tell your boss what happened here and that I’ll destroy anyone else who comes after me.”

Kronos didn’t wait for a reply, he retrieved his sword, wiped it clean on the arm of a chair and walked out. When he got to his car he pulled out his phone and debated whether or not he should call Methos. Finally, he tossed the phone to the seat next to him and started the car.

When he got to the loft he shared with Methos he shucked out of his coat and draped it over the back of the sofa. There was no response when he called for Methos and for a terrifying moment he thought he was too late. He stilled when he heard a key in the door. The buzz of another Immortal was a reassuring thrum in the back of his head. He watched, unable to look away, until he saw Methos step through the door, fatigue in every weary line of his body.

“Long day?” 

Kronos leaned against the couch, using it to support his weight as his knees went weak. Methos looked up at Kronos’ question and smiled the content little smile he’d been using a lot lately. Methos ran a hand through his hair, giving it a brief ruffle. Kronos allowed himself to breathe because Methos was there and happy and he didn’t even know that anything was wrong.

“Someone rearranged my schedule. I basically pulled double duty. Cuddy took pity on me and I’ve got tomorrow off.”

Kronos nodded, suddenly unwilling to burst Methos’ bubble. 

“Why don’t you go wash up and I’ll order dinner.” 

“Thanks.”

Methos gave him a quick, absentminded kiss that Kronos was only just beginning to appreciate because it showed more about the depth of Methos’ feelings than any declaration or quick fuck.

…

House had decided to take a second look at the patient, determined to find what he’d missed. He hadn’t misdiagnosed the man, because his appendix had been infected, but House had missed something and he needed to know what it was.

When he turned the corner he saw a tall man enter his patient’s room. He stopped and, using the corner as cover, watched the interaction between the tall man and his patient. Their features were similar enough that they could be brothers, or cousins at least, but the interaction was all wrong. 

They looked pleasant enough at they spoke but his patient’s body language was defensive as he lay with his arms folded across his chest despite the pain and his shoulders hunched. The tall man stood, feet apart to balance his weight and leaning forward aggressively in a manner aimed at unconsciously intimidating his opponents.

House stepped away from the wall and strode with purpose into the room. He made a show of looking over the medical equipment and readouts as the tall man tapped his foot impatiently.

“Well?” the tall man demanded.

“Yes?” House questioned obliviously.

“How’s he doing?”

“I’m sorry, I can’t share that information.”

“I’m his brother.”

House glanced over at the patient who shrugged a little helplessly. House’s gaze passed over him quickly. He wasn’t the interesting factor in the relationship. House refocused on the brother.

“His condition hasn’t deteriorated and we’re still running tests to find out the cause.”

“When will you know?” the brother demanded. Though he tried to make the question casual, House detected something dark and dangerous in his tone. 

“In a few hours,” House told him. A suspicion began to form in House’s mind and he wondered how the toxicology panel was coming along. He turned and strode briskly out of the room.

…

Kronos hefted the bag on his shoulder. He stalked down the hallway looking as purposeful as ever. He knew better than to look like he was actually trying to be covert. The contents of his bag rattled softly.

He was just crossing the foyer when he saw Methos crossing from the other side. He’d snuck out while Methos was in the shower with the intention of getting coffee and bagels before returning to the loft with Methos none-the-wiser. He couldn’t let House go unpunished for making Kronos worry, but he didn’t want to provoke Methos either. Methos stopped every other person and briefly spoke to them. All of them looked a little annoyed and stormed off towards the elevator. Clearly Methos had had similar plans to him. Methos looked decidedly pleased with himself. It made him look young and relaxed, and Kronos could almost believe that Methos had changed. 

“Alex.” 

Methos turned his pleased grin to Kronos.

“Derek.” Methos paused for a moment as he turned to a nurse who was passing him. “Doctor House needs to see you urgently.”

The nurse scowled at the mere mention of House and stalked off. Methos grinned.

“Revenge?” Kronos asked.

“If House is going to mess with my schedule, I’m going to mess with his.”

“How many people have you sent up already?”

“I think that was number 14.” Methos looked Kronos over critically. “I take it you got revenge as well.” Kronos nodded and handed the bag over to Methos who took a discreet look inside. He winced.

“His vicodin?” 

Methos was quiet to avoid being overheard. He glanced around quickly and handed the bag back. They made their way out of the hospital, shoulder to shoulder. Methos had a day off and he wasn’t planning to waste much more of it.

“I think I managed to find most of his secret stashes too.”

“You know, when I suggested playing at his level I didn’t think you’d get this into it.”

Kronos grinned, the scar across his eye making the expression more sinister.

“I was thinking we should take him on.”

“I thought that’s what we were doing.”

“As a student.”

Methos stopped short and turned to stare at Kronos.

“You want House as our student?” 

Kronos nodded and his amused expression turned serious.

“I think he might be good for us. And that pretty boy doctor, too.”

“Wilson? I’d considered him.”

Kronos smirked.

“It’s elementary, Doctor Egan.”

Methos scowled but took a moment to seriously think about it. The last time they’d taken on students, the world had trembled at their feet. Of course, the world was likely to tremble this time around too, but for entirely different reasons. The thought of Kronos and House actually working together made Methos nervous.

“We’ve never taken on a Sentinel and Guide before, but alright.” He continued the walk to the car before looking over his shoulder. “You’re the one that gets to persuade House.” 

…

“It’s not cancer, and there’s no sign of ulcerative colitis, primary sclerosing cholangitis, or viral hepatitis,” Foreman told House as he stepped through the glass door to the office.

“And the tox panel?” House asked. 

“Taub and Cutner are running it again,” Foreman said. “There was a problem with the results the first time around.”

“What kind of problem?” House demanded. Foreman shrugged.

“The analyses were incomprehensible. We checked to see if there was a fault in the equipment but couldn’t find anything. It seems to be functioning fine now.”

House doubted there’d be any way to prove it, but he was sure the brother had something to do with it.

“Well go help them then. And make sure you test extensively for poisons.”

House dismissed him as he turned to the small screen he was watching. For once, it wasn’t set to his usual soap opera. 

“Our patient’s getting sicker and you’re watching some idiotic TV show?” Foreman demanded. He grabbed the device from House’s hands and turned to look at it. The anger immediately drained from him to be replaced by confusion. “You’re stalking Egan?”

“No, I’m not.” House put just the right intonation into his words to make it sound like a childish denial.

“You’ve got a camera in his office and you can’t possibly pretend it’s for diagnostic purposes.”

“I’m gathering evidence.”

Foreman rolled his eyes and dropped the screen on House’s desk. House quickly snatched it back up.

“He’s just a surgeon. Your not liking him doesn’t make him a criminal.”

“Not that kind of evidence.”

House’s smile was smug and mysterious, though Foreman was clearly immune to it. He’d have to try again on the fellows. Cutner would be curious about what House was doing and his reaction would be a lot more entertaining.

“You know what, I really don’t want to know. I’m going to go try to save our patient.”

…

Kronos watched as Methos moved steadily through his kata, which included both ancient and more modern forms of martial arts from all around the world. He reminded Kronos of nothing more than the cobra that was his spirit guide. Silent, slow and unobtrusive until he struck with deadly strength and accuracy. Methos wouldn’t appreciate the sentiment, but Kronos thought he was beautiful in his lethality.

It wasn’t until the relatively recent prevalence of English that Kronos had come to appreciate the irony of his own scorpion spirit guide: the Deathstalker. That was what he’d done for the better part of his very long life. It seemed that he had always been pursuing Methos and even now there were times when he didn’t know what to do now that he had caught him.

He knew he was privileged to see Methos like this. The first time around he’d taken for granted the trust it implied, but when he’d first returned and they’d come to a shaky agreement Methos hadn’t allowed Kronos to watch the meditative practice. It hadn’t been an outright dismissal, but Kronos had increasingly begun to realise that Methos only practiced when Kronos was out hunting or on errands as a way to hide his true capability in case he needed the edge.

Methos came to a stop and opened his eyes. Kronos was startled, as always, by the momentary distant and alien look in Methos’ eyes before the older Immortal blinked it away. It was a part of Methos he’d never been able to touch. When he was just a few decades old he’d feared it and tried to control it. He was still only just beginning to understand it. 

Kronos was relatively straightforward. He had the ability to deceive with ease when necessary, but he had remained fundamentally the same. Methos, Kronos had realised, grew out of his deceptions, which meant that he was constantly evolving. It went against the grain of his own nature, but Kronos was determined to keep up this time. He was also determined to provide a solid foundation for the transitory Immortal.

“You really want to spend your free day cooped up inside?”

Methos sighed, and appeared to shrug seamlessly into his far more familiar role.

“I suppose you want to go hunting.”

The observation was wry but Methos was already moving to put his coat on.

“It is part of our agreement.”

Methos shook his head a little and Kronos could sense victory.

“I knew that thing was a bad idea... Alright, but you’re sitting through a movie with me afterwards.”

It wouldn’t be difficult to distract Methos from that plan of action, especially when they were both still keyed up from the fight. Kronos grinned and grabbed the keys. The arguments Methos put up against going hunting these days were mostly token and Kronos knew that as much influence as Methos had on him, he had on Methos.

…

Wilson stepped cautiously into House’s office, dodging a book as he did so.  
“House?” he asked, watching as House made an awkward shuffle from the bookcase to the drawers of his desk. The bookshelves were already in disarray, with books strewn everywhere, and House seemed to be about to do the same to the desk.

“Vicodin,” House growled.

“Oxycodon,” Wilson offered as he inched a little further into the office. He kept to the wall that bordered the conference room because it let him both approach House at his desk and keep a relatively safe distance.

“Vicodin!”

“If we’re going to play ‘name that drug’ you can’t repeat your answer, it’s cheating,” he said blandly.

“It’s gone,” House told him, scrounging through already messy drawers. Wilson’s eyebrows rose.

“I gave you a new prescription yesterday, you can’t possibly need a new one.”

“My vicodin is all gone. Someone took it.”

“Why would anyone take your vicodin?”

“Not anyone, someone very specific. I’ve got more at home.” 

House grabbed his cane and hobbled past Wilson. Wilson trailed after him. He thought it awfully indicative of their current relationship that House didn’t even try to pry another prescription from him. It should have been a good thing, but it didn’t feel like it.

“You can’t just go home. You’re in the middle of a case.”

“Watch me.”

“The brother’s a lawyer with some big law firm, you know. Do you really need to be sued now?”

“He’ll live.”

“And your patient?”

House paused but Wilson doubted he’d won the argument. He never did, not for very long.

“It’ll give the children a chance to prove themselves.”

“House,” Wilson continued.

“Either you give me a lift or I take my bike.”

The threat of House riding, distracted, and in pain, was implied and Wilson heard it loud and clear.

“Alright,” Wilson conceded. “But I have an appointment in an hour that I need to get back for and you’ve got clinic duty.”

…

Foreman pushed the file at House who merely raised an eyebrow.

“Discretion really isn’t in your repertoire, is it?” House grumbled as he cast a glance out into the clinic before shutting the door. Conning the nurses into thinking he had a patient when he didn’t was an elaborate and pain-staking process that he really didn’t need Foreman ruining. Especially when he’d spent most of the afternoon away from the hospital.

“He’s got arsenic poisoning.”

“How pedestrian,” House mused. He rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “Though the really interesting thing would be who poisoned him.” And why they were getting proper results now when they hadn’t been earlier. Was the brother done with whatever he’d been doing?

“It could have been accidental,” Foreman argued, though it was half-hearted at best, and mostly just because it was House and not because he actually disagreed.

“Treat him for arsenic poisoning then get Thirteen to distract the brother while you search his house.”

“Thirteen and Cutner should be on the way back from the patient’s house. We should see if there’s anything there first.”

“I’m sure there will be something. That doesn’t mean it wasn’t at the brother’s house first.”

“Fine,” Foreman reluctantly conceded.

“Go forth and heal,” House commanded. Foreman spared House a glare before he left.

…

House hadn’t expected to hit gold when he’d planted a camera in Egan’s office. He’d hoped to glean a little blackmail material on Kaden from the conversations. What he’d discovered might constitute blackmail material, but House was going to put it to far better use.

House typed the password for Cutner’s email account. The boy didn’t have any concept of basic password protection. He attached the file he’d prepared, a downloaded virus with the video he’d recorded, and sent it to the staff mailing list.

Once he was sure it had sent he logged out and limped out of his office. Egan was supposed to be in the clinic.

…

Methos stepped out of the clinic room to hand the file to the nurse when he noticed most of the people staring at the computer monitors at the clinic nurses’ station. The crowd seemed to turn to him as one and Methos took the opportunity to look beyond them. The image was grainy but Methos could tell that it was his office. What surprised him most was that it showed him on the desk, legs wrapped around Kronos, head thrown back as Kronos thrust into him. He was a little annoyed since he’d even made sure to lock the door that time.

Methos had never thought to film himself. He tilted his head to one side as he contemplated the video. The quality wasn’t good, the angle wasn’t flattering, and there were too many clothes to really tell, but it looked terribly uncomfortable. He hadn’t noticed at the time, but he was sure if he were mortal he’d have more than a few aching muscles. 

At least the quality was bad enough that it wasn’t easy to identify them without expecting it to be them from the context. The last thing Methos wanted was to have to spend a few years in hiding because the video had gone viral.

There was a flurry of whispers and Methos looked up to see Kronos stroll in. If Kronos hadn’t been quite so threatening, even when he wasn’t deliberately trying, Methos was sure Cuddy would have told him to stop visiting Methos and taking up the hospital’s time. Though Kronos might have won points with Cuddy by diverting House’s attention from truly destructive endeavours. 

With a slight gesture of his head Methos indicated the monitors. Kronos only needed a moment’s glance to grasp what was happening. He stalked forward, grabbed Methos around the waist and, with flair Kronos didn’t usually show, dipped him. 

Kronos gave a brief, conspiratorial smirk which Methos answered as he gripped Kronos shoulder with one hand for stability. He dug the fingers of the other into Kronos’ short hair. Kronos leaned down and captured Methos’ lips in a kiss. It started out slow, but passion and heat flared, as it inevitably always did between them, and Methos’s focus narrowed to lips and slick tongue, strong hands that burned where they held his shoulder and hip, and the length of Kronos’ body pressed firmly against his.

When Kronos broke the kiss to regain some much needed breath, Methos surged upward, recapturing his lips. Kronos’ hand on Methos’ hip slid to his thigh and Kronos drew him closer. Methos gave a low moan that vibrated through Kronos. He knew that if they continued no one would have to watch the video to get the full show.

In one smooth motion, Kronos swung Methos up and pulled him close. He pressed his cheek to Methos’ flushed one.

“Think they got the message?” 

A murmur in Methos’s ear. He could feel the grin that spread across Methos face.

“I think so.” 

Kronos struggled to hear him over the applause that broke out in the clinic. He looked over Methos’ shoulder to where House was standing in a corner, frowning. Kronos raised an eyebrow in challenge and didn’t bother to hide a victorious smile, which was mostly a baring of teeth, when House’s frown shifted to a scowl.

…

Kronos had left Methos at the hospital to deal with the fallout. A few well placed threats to some of the more malicious looking staff and he was sure that Methos would be fine. Not that Methos couldn’t look after himself; he just acted like he couldn’t a little too well.

He pushed open the front door to the loft and dumped the post on the side table. As he wandered through the loft picking up stray beer bottles and books, he moved from mildly tolerant to vaguely appalled at the domesticity of it all. He hadn’t stayed in the same place for more than a few months in millennia. He hadn’t settled down and he definitely hadn’t invested in the lives of the mortals around him. 

Kronos needed Methos, and he’d been willing to wait for Methos to relax his guard and drop 2000 years worth of masks. He hadn’t expected that Methos didn’t have masks or personas or whatever Kronos might have thought of it as, he was just... complex. He’d come to think of Methos as a hurricane. Everything he’d ever done or been, and all the influences of the times he’d lived, wove in and out of all his identities, but there was no core, no central identity upon which all others were based.

Kronos also hadn’t anticipated growing accustomed to living as they were. Finding himself embroiled in the life of a mortal was the last thing he’d expected. Finding himself interested in knowing more about the mortal was practically anathema.

He had no idea how, but Kronos was going to work out how Methos managed to get his way by appearing to compromise. Giving in to the inevitable, Kronos rifled through the post, setting the bills aside. He paused when he came to a letter with his name scrawled across the front and nothing else. It was heavier than the others and Kronos couldn’t shake the ominous feeling that settled solidly on his shoulders.

Tearing the envelop open he tipped the contents onto the table. Photographs spilled across the surface showing candid shots of Methos, sometimes with him, sometimes not.

This time there wasn’t a note, or someone keeping track of Methos. This was Wolfram and Hart telling him he would never escape them, Methos would always be in danger, and no matter how many of them Kronos killed there would always be more.

Enough was enough. He needed to fill Methos in on the situation.

…

Methos watched as the oil drained from the motorbike. There was a strange satisfaction in the dirty rainbow that oozed across the gravel. 

“Isn’t this whole thing getting a little out of hand?”

Methos turned to see Wilson watching him with a vaguely amused, vaguely disapproving expression. He figured the mixture must come from being friends with House. 

His shrug was just a slight shift of his shoulders as he looked back down to the spreading oil once more.

“Probably. But it’s not going to end until one of them concedes.”

“You don’t seem too interested in trying to stop them.” Wilson’s tone was almost accusatory as he also looked down at the bike.

“Derek and I never lose.” At least not when they worked together.

“I imagine you won the last round,” Wilson said, referring to the reaction to the video. Methos still couldn’t walk down a hallway without staff flushing, avoiding his gaze, or both. He suspected those who might have insulted or threatened him were already frightened of Kronos or threatened into silence. “Couldn’t you just leave it at that?”

“It’s not about who wins the round. It’s all about the game.”

“It’s a little unfair; two against one.”

“You could always help,” Methos suggested. 

“Because that’s exactly what this situation needs; another person spiralling out of control.”

Methos spun, putting the conversation with Wilson on hold, as he turned to see a dark van drive up with a squeal of breaks. Three men jumped out and came directly for them. Methos pushed Wilson away. He had a feeling the men were after him, not the oncologist. Besides, Methos needed to protect his student, whether the student was aware of that relationship or not.

“Go get security,” Methos ordered, when Wilson hesitated. 

Pain lanced through Methos, sparking along his nerve endings, and he dropped to his knees.

“Leave him alone,” Wilson shouted. Methos wanted to tell the stupid man to run, but he couldn’t make his body respond. Rough hands grasped him and pulled him to his feet. Methos hung on just long enough to hear Wilson yelling before he blacked out.

…

House slowed as he watched the patient’s brother slip into the chapel. He edged forward until he stood just to the side of the doors.

“You have him?” the brother asked. House assumed he was speaking on a phone. There was a pause. “Excellent. I was getting tired of keeping an eye on him. You’d think that someone so significant would lead a more interesting life.” There was another pause and the brother chuckled at what he heard. “I’m almost done here, just one more thing I have to take care of, and then I’ll be on the first flight out. There’s only so much I can distort their results before they realise something’s going on.”

There was the click of a phone snapping shut and House carried on his walk down the passage. He was at the elevators at the end of the hallway when the brother came to stand next to him. They gave each other strained smiles that disappeared the moment the elevator arrived.

“Terrible weather isn’t it,” House observed idly. “I’d love to be on a beach in the Mediterranean right now,” House added, watching the brother’s reflection in the reflective surface of the elevator. The brother hummed noncommittally. “Where would you go? Mediterranean? Australia? I hear Australia has some nice beaches.”

“My brother’s in the hospital.” His tone was almost indifferent as though he was just mimicking the words without feeling them and the look he shot House was cool and without any discernable emotion.

“Of course.”

The elevator stopped and the doors slid open. House strode out of the elevator, beating the brother out even with his uneven gait. A glance assured House that the brother was leaving and he made his way directly to Cuddy’s office. He burst in her door and let it slam behind him.

“The arsenic poisoning wasn’t accidental.”

“What?” Cuddy asked, looking up from her work.

“The brother, he’s deliberately poisoning the patient so he can keep an eye on someone here, only he doesn’t need to anymore.”

Cuddy’s expression slackened with shock before it transformed into grim determination.

“Do you have proof?”

House hesitated only a moment but Cuddy’s eyes narrowed.

“I overheard a conversation.”

“And what did he say?” Cuddy asked, her expression shifting to wary and distrusting.

“Does it matter? He’s trying to kill someone! He’s trying to kill his brother!”

“House, I can’t do anything without evidence.”

House reluctantly relayed the half conversation he’d overheard.

“That’s all?”

“Cuddy, this guy’s suspicious.”

“House, I can’t do anything about someone who doesn’t want to look after a sick relative.”

“You can if he’s the one making the relative sick.”

“You don’t have any proof.”

“If he dies, it’s your fault,” House snarled and stormed out. Cuddy bit her lip worriedly as she watched him stalk across the lobby.

…

“House,” Cuddy said as she caught up to him just as he was closing the door to his office. She hurried in and shut it quietly behind her.

House’s thoughts immediately went to his patient, but the evidence didn’t fit. If something had gone wrong with the patient Cuddy would be angry because she would have found a way to blame him for it. The only reason she’d be looking at him with that sympathetic expression was if there was something more wrong with his leg, which he rather thought he’d know first, or something had happened to his parents or Wilson. The knuckles of his right hand bleached white as he gripped his cane tightly.

“Given up on repressing your feelings for me?” His harsh tone didn’t match his words and Cuddy didn’t even call him on it.

“Wilson and Egan were kidnapped.”

House was ready to scoff, but Cuddy’s pale features and anxious expression stopped him.

“Security saw the attack, but it happened too quickly for them to stop. Egan was hurt, we’re not sure how bad, but Wilson was fine.”

Relief, followed swiftly by unfamiliar guilt, swept through him. Wilson hadn’t been hurt, at least last anyone saw. Once that feeling had passed, House’s first thought was that he was right about the brother poisoning his patient. His second was that even he was shocked at the heartlessness it took to poison your own brother just to have an excuse to visit the hospital. The third thought was that there was no reason for anyone to keep an eye on Wilson, but Egan was interesting because he was involved with Kaden who was interesting. If Wilson was hurt because of them House was going to do a lot worse than a silly computer virus.

“And Kaden?” House asked, because he couldn’t imagine any situation in which this ended well.

“I called him right after the police, he’s on his way.”

House felt a shock of fear shiver down his spine at the thought of Kaden without Egan to temper him. He took an unconscious step back when he saw Kaden in the hallway. The door slammed open, rattling the glass in the pane. Cuddy jumped and turned, then blanched as she saw Kaden’s expression.

“What happened?” Kaden demanded.

“Egan and Wilson were kidnapped,” House answered when it became clear Cuddy wasn’t going to.

“When?”

“I’m still trying to find out the particulars myself.”

Kaden turned to Cuddy; dark expression growing darker, when she didn’t respond immediately. House got the impression that Kaden was much closer to violence than House was comfortable with.

“The police will find them.”

“No, they won’t,” Kaden said with absolute certainty.

“This has something to do with you, doesn’t it?” House observed, for once careful to keep any accusation out of his voice. He imagined that Kaden was the sort of man who’d let Wilson die just to spite House.

“Probably.”

“You know who did it.”

“I know who probably did it.”

“Will they hurt Wilson?”

“Not while he’s useful.”

“He has nothing to do with this, how is he useful?”

“He’ll ensure Alex’s cooperation.”

“And Egan’s to ensure yours,” House said, making the leap in logic.

“They’ll give up, eventually.”

“They’ve done it before?” House was quickly losing any fear he might have had, and giving in to anger that Kaden and Egan had put Wilson in danger. That Egan was also in danger caused House only the briefest concern because Egan had been aware of the situation, probably prepared for it, but Wilson had no clue what was going on.

“I need to see your security footage,” Kaden demanded of Cuddy, ignoring House.

“The police will be here soon,” Cuddy said.

“There’s nothing they can do.”

“Not if you don’t tell them what’s going on,” Cuddy said.

“I’m sure the police have contingency plans for a demonic law firm bent on recruiting me for my history as a mass murderer.” Kaden’s tone was scathing and Cuddy flushed.

“Wilson and Egan are missing! The least you could do is take this seriously,” Cuddy said.

The problem, House decided, was that Kaden was taking it seriously. House knew what the man looked like when he was teasing, and this wasn’t it. That left two options, either Kaden was insane, which was entirely possible, or Kaden was telling the truth, which meant House was insane for believing him.

“If you’re going after them I’m coming too,” House insisted. The look Kaden shot him was disdainful.

“You’ll only slow me down,” he snarled and he stalked out of the room.

…

House paced the length of his office. Kaden had been gone for twenty minutes and the police had only just pulled up in front of the hospital. House didn’t have much faith in them and he hated being out of the loop. Wilson was in danger and he had no idea why.

He couldn’t just stand around and do nothing. He couldn’t question Kaden or Egan, but there was one person involved in the situation still around, even if Cuddy didn’t believe him.

House strode out of his office, the effect only ruined slightly by his cane and limp, and took the elevator down a floor. The patient had been recovering nicely once they’d realised the toxin was arsenic. He’d had old rat poison at his house, so the team and Cuddy were willing to consider accidental poisoning, but House was still convinced it was the brother and that he’d been watching Egan. The patient might know something even if he was aware of it.

The patient was lying back, awake but still obviously recovering. House couldn’t remember his name. He walked into the room and sat down without any greeting.

“Tell me about your brother,” House said.

“We were never really close,” the patient said after a moment. “We didn’t come from much, but it was family, you know?” House didn’t say anything. “He never thought it was enough and when he became a lawyer it got even worse.”

“Yeah?” House had never been all that sympathetic and that was the best he could offer without resorting to insults.

“Wolfram and Hart changed him.”

The admission was quiet, almost accidental, and House filed away the name of the firm. They were known for representing a number of celebrities and businessmen, and they’d always had a slightly shady reputation, and House couldn’t help but wonder if that was the connection to Kaden. Maybe he’d worked for them but got out and they didn’t appreciate it, or maybe they wanted him to work for them but he wasn’t interested. He couldn’t know more until he’d spoken to Kaden.

Though if anything happened to Wilson, it wouldn’t matter either way because he’d happily rid Wolfram and Hart of the problem.

…

Methos groaned and shifted, trying to get more comfortable. He wasn’t in bed and Kronos wasn’t pressed up against him, enveloping him as though Kronos could hide him from the world. In fact, the surface he was on was decidedly cold and hard and did nothing to ease the ache that still suffused him. When he forced his eyes open he looked into the concerned ones of Wilson. Wilson smiled down at him. Not amusement; rather relief that did nothing to mask worry. 

“How are you?” Wilson asked. Methos didn’t try moving yet. He was still trying to catalogue his limbs, but it was simply a matter of time.

“Give me a minute,” he murmured. Wilson bobbed his head but didn’t move away.

“You stopped breathing for a moment. I performed CPR, but you really should be in a hospital.”

Methos nodded, willing to let Wilson run with that explanation. Slowly, he levered himself up.

“What happened?”

“You were electrocuted by excessive use of tazers, and we were kidnapped.”

“Tazers,” Methos muttered. “I hate tazers.” He’d never liked death by electrocution. Like fire, it lingered after revival. 

“Had much chance to experience them?” Wilson asked, amusement creeping through the worry.

“More than I’d like.”

Now that he was assured Methos would be alright, at least for now, Wilson settled down next to him.

“What’s going on?”

Methos paused briefly, running through a number of scenarios before settling on something that was mostly the truth. Ultimately, it may even help to cement the student-teacher relationship.

“They’re interested in Derek,” Methos admitted. Unexpected emotions writhed within him at that admission. Things like betrayal, disappointment and weary resignation. “I can’t believe he didn’t tell me they’d followed us.”

“They want him for what he does?” Wilson asked. Immediately a flush stained his cheeks and he ducked his head, avoiding Methos’ eyes. “That is… I mean… House and I…”

Methos found himself smiling and feeling far more confident about taking the two on as students.

“You’re right. It’s partly what he does, partly what he is.”

Curiosity burned in Wilson’s eyes, but he remained silent. Methos knew that there had been long gossip sessions about Kronos and him and the nature of their relationship. From the outside, Methos could admit they made a strange pair.

“There are people with superior senses. It makes them especially suited to certain jobs. Typically law enforcement or military, though not always.”

Wilson seemed to accept that claim readily enough. His eyes widened at Methos’ last comment before he gave a brief nod. It was as close as Methos would come, at this point, to revealing what Kronos really did.

“Sometimes these abilities can manifest differently, in dreams and visions, or the ability to interpret information, but only on an unconscious level.”

Gears almost visibly turned in Wilson’s head. His initial reaction was to scoff, and then he pieced together things that had happened since he’d known House. Dreams he’d teased House about, diagnoses House had been certain about with only scant proof. 

“House is like you.”

“Like Derek, yes. I’m something else.” Methos watched Wilson closely. He figured that was enough for the oncologist to absorb for now. Undoubtedly there’d be more questions and disbelief later, when their lives weren’t in jeopardy. He knew that they wouldn’t kill him, they needed him to persuade Kronos, but that didn’t mean they wouldn’t make his stay uncomfortable, and Wilson was fair game.

…

Kronos jumped the wall of the property. He’d briefly scouted for cameras but found none. Wolfram and Hart would have other ways to monitor the situation, but even if he did trigger an alarm of some kind, Kronos knew it wouldn’t alert the police. Wolfram and Hart had too much to hide and more efficient ways of dealing with any number of intruders to leave it to the police. All that meant was that Kronos would get to have his fun, uninterrupted. 

He drew his sword – violence was always more satisfying with a blade. He fingered one of the amulets he’d picked up from the apartment as he moved silently but swiftly around the side of the building. Methos’s collection of amulets was extensive and Kronos really wished he’d taken the time to learn more about it because he knew some of them could be used to counteract Wolfram and Hart’s protections, but he had to resort to grabbing anything that looked useful.

He ducked into the shadow of the building and waited for one of the patrolling guards to pass before Kronos slammed him against the wall. Kronos stared dispassionately into wide hazel eyes. He had the man pinned helplessly with his sword to the man’s throat.

“Where is he?” Kronos demanded. The man remained silent and Kronos pressed the blade in until a liberal amount of blood flowed. “This is the easy way. The hard way means I kill you and find someone more cooperative. So, where the fuck is he?”

“He’s in the basement with the other guy,” the man said quickly.

In a swift move Kronos pressed forward, slicing deeply into the man’s neck. Arterial blood sprayed him, warm and sticky. He ignored it.

“Oops,” he said lightly, stepping back. The man’s body slumped to the ground and Kronos turned sharply and moved to the front door of the large safe house. He kicked the door open and stepped across the threshold. Immediately several of the amulets glowed, one even burned briefly before the ash drifted lazily away. He continued his brisk walk through the facility. The only obstacle left was finding Methos. If they’d hurt him Kronos was going to be a lot less efficient about killing them.

He came across two other men on his way to the basement, one of whom conveniently had a key. Kronos decided to worry about it later, when he had Methos. It was a pity there wasn’t any sun they could come out of, though he was sure he was terrifying enough as it was. He absently wiped his face, smearing blood across his cheek.

He wasn’t sure what he expected when he opened the door but a pale Methos, with arms folded and foot tapping impatiently, was not it. Methos’s eyes narrowed and his lips thinned in disapproval. So much for post-fight, adrenaline fuelled, reaffirmation sex.

He quickly sheathed his sword to hide it from the mortal and stepped close to Methos to hide the transfer of a second sword. Methos shifted his grip on the sword and Kronos grew still for a moment, wondering if giving Methos his sword was a good idea. Kronos remembered the clash of Silas’s axe on Methos’s sword. He flexed his fingers but didn’t reach for his own sword. Methos finally secured the broadsword in the folds of his coat.

“You lied to me.”

Kronos knew he should be arguing the point or defensive or anything but grinning, but there was a hard edge to Methos’s question that he recognised and rejoiced in. Just as he’d thought, Death hadn’t been eradicated, he’d just been dormant.

“I don’t know what you mean.” It was about as honest as Kronos ever got.

“Wolfram and Hart followed us and you didn’t tell me.”

“I was handling it.”

“Funny, I’m pretty sure your handling it didn’t encompass me being followed or kidnapped.”

“Are you going to argue or are we going to get out of here?” Wilson asked only to be ignored.

“Clearly I’m not the only one keeping secrets. You knew you were being followed and you didn’t tell me.”

“I didn’t know it was them.”

Kronos frowned. He’d gotten good at listening to what Methos didn’t say.

“You thought it was me.” 

Kronos couldn’t even say he was surprised by Methos’s paranoia. Methos had already been plenty suspicious when they met 3000 years ago, he’d had another 2000 years after he left to hone his wariness. It was something Kronos really should have taken into account when he’d tracked Methos down again.

“It wouldn’t exactly be the first time.”

“I really hate to interrupt this reunion, but I think we should get out of here,” Wilson said. Methos glanced sidelong at Kronos before nodding. Kronos knew it was hardly the end of their argument, but the mortal was right. He drew his gun and led the way out of the room. Wilson eyed the gun warily but said nothing. Methos waited for Wilson to exit before following him out. Wilson was by far their weakest point, which meant they had to guard him carefully.

“You know you’re wearing at least one fertility amulet, right?” Methos told Kronos, a little too amused at Kronos’s expense. Kronos scowled. “And that one with all the colours, that’s for good dreams.”

“I’m starting to think I should have left you to their mercy.” 

Kronos ripped the rainbow coloured amulet from around his neck and threw it back. Methos caught it with a grin. Kronos rather suspected that Methos wouldn’t be the one at anyone’s mercy.

“It’s too quiet,” Methos observed moments later as they made their way down another corridor.

“I know,” Kronos said. 

They passed two bodies as they went. Wilson looked away but said nothing. The glances he sneaked at Kronos and, less often, Methos were wary and a little horrified. 

“Derek,” Methos murmured as he turned and backed up. Two men were coming up behind them and, when they backed into the entrance area, they found themselves surrounded. Methos pulled Wilson behind him once more and drew his sword. Considering the circumstances, Wilson finding out about the sword was the least of his worries. Wilson blinked at the men when he realised that half of them didn’t look like men.

“What are they?” Wilson asked softly, hating the tremor of fear in his voice.

“Men in masks,” Methos answered distractedly.

“Okay,” Wilson tried to keep his eye on every direction. He’d be useless in a fight, he knew that, but he could let Egan and Kaden know what was coming. “They’re not men in masks, are they?”

“No.”

Wilson’s heart felt like it would beat out of his chest and he realised that he might actually die here, a casualty of a war he knew nothing about. He glanced at the other doctor, though he wasn’t sure what he was expecting – some kind of indication that he felt the same as Wilson – but Egan’s smile was sharp and cold. He was actually enjoying himself.

He was nothing like the man Wilson had, admittedly, only known peripherally. He could see this man with Kaden as he’d never been able to before. Somehow, Egan scared him in a way that Kaden didn’t. Maybe it was that Kaden had never hidden what he was, but no one would ever suspect Egan.

“This is getting tiresome,” Kronos said. He and Methos moved in slow, deliberate steps as they turned in a circle, tracking any threat from the assembled group.

“Exactly how many encounters have you had with them?” Methos asked, brow raised, though he didn’t take his eyes off the group arranged around them.

“A few,” Kronos admitted reluctantly. Methos’s response was a non-committal grunt. Kronos tried his most charming smile. “I found one of your journals at an auction,” he offered. 

“This,” Methos said with a sweeping gesture of his sword, “requires far more than that.”

“You could read it to me naked.”

“I don’t see how that makes things up to me.”

“I do love your ancient Greek accent.”

Despite himself, Methos grinned.

“I’m not sure this is the best time to flirt,” Wilson offered, turning in place to make sure no one was going to run him through or claw him to death from behind.

Kronos and Methos shared a brief, conspiratorial smirk as they remembered millennia gone by and similar exchanges against similar odds.

“And I saw, and behold a white horse –” Kronos quoted. 

“Shut up,” Methos grumbled.

“Come and see,” Kronos added with a wild and cruel imitation of a smile.

Wilson knew the quote sounded vaguely familiar, though he wasn’t sure where he’d heard it and there were far more vital things to worry about, like trying to stay alive. He wasn’t sure what signal had been given but both men moved as one and then he had to avert his eyes. 

Methos and Kronos moved around Wilson as they hacked and slashed at the vampires and demons attacking them. Millennia of practice and superior healing were more than a match for superior strength, despite being outnumbered.

They were almost through with the demons when Wilson was knocked forcefully backwards. He slid along the grimy and ichor-covered floor before coming to a hard stop against the wall. He moaned a little more pitifully than he would ever admit to.

“Daeva,” Methos said as he and Kronos moved to stand shoulder to shoulder, covering Wilson as he picked himself up. 

“I don’t suppose one of these ridiculous things can deal with it,” Kronos said, indicating the amulets around his neck.

“You are sleeping on the couch until you have a basic understanding of amulets, talismans and charms.”

“You wouldn’t dare,” Kronos said smugly.

“Try me,” Methos snarled back. He rested his left hand on Kronos’ shoulder, sword still held in front of him in the right. “Focus.”

Kronos closed his eyes and cocked his head to one side, using his other senses to try and pinpoint the location of the daeva. Methos’ hand slid up to the back of his neck. Kronos held himself ready. Unlike the usual demons that possessed people, daevas had substance. They were invisible and light was easiest way to deal with them permanently because they were born of shadow, but they could be hindered by weapons if you could actually manage to score a hit.

Kronos lunged suddenly, sword slashing through the air, and there was an unholy shriek that had Wilson pressing himself up against the wall, as far away from it as he could get. Methos grabbed his wrist and pulled him quickly along as they fled the building. 

…

House marched into the room only to stop short at the activity going on. Foreman told everyone to stand clear then pressed the paddles the patient’s chest. There was no reaction. Once, twice, three times and still nothing. There was a moment when common sense battled disbelief and Foreman finally called time of death. He turned to see House watching him.

“I’m sorry,” Foreman told him. House just shook his head and scanned the room. An empty bottle of pills lay discarded on the cabinet and House knew the autopsy would rule it an overdose. Accidental or not didn’t matter, House knew what really happened. The brother was gone and he’d taken care of the ‘one more thing’ he needed to. 

Abruptly House swiped the assortment of things on top of the cabinet to the ground. He stood, breathing heavily as he tried to regain control of himself. In that instant he wanted nothing more than Wilson’s unyielding presence and sarcastic cynicism that only House seemed to bring out. It became an almost physical ache when House saw Cuddy through the glass. Her expression of shock and guilt did nothing to improve his mood.

He walked out the room, leaving behind the patient, whose name he’d never gotten around to learning, and stopped next to Cuddy.

“House,” she began, and he just knew that she was going to offer him some kind of platitude.

“You could have saved him,” he said softly, tone not quite menacing. She stared at him with something like betrayal in her watery eyes and for a single, quiet moment he hated her. He’d been right, he was always right, and she never believed him. Yet, somehow it was always his fault when things turned out exactly as he’d predicted. He was sick of it.

He stalked off leaving Cuddy to stare at the body and the aftermath.

…

“That thing you did, helping him focus; you think I can do that for House?” Wilson asked.

They stood outside PPTH, ready to go explain their version of what happened. It was an extremely watered-down version, but there was no one left alive to contradict them, and Wilson was willing to protect them if only because it indirectly protected House.

“For every one like House or Derek, there’s someone like you or me. We help them focus and interpret the information they receive, and provide council.”

“House doesn’t listen to anyone.”

“He probably doesn’t always do what you say, but he listens to you.”

Wilson’s brow furrowed as he tried to absorb all he’d discovered. It was a lot to take in. He and House were linked beyond the inexplicable friendship they’d created. His breath huffed out in a long exhale as he wondered just how much of that friendship was because of it.

“I need to think about this,” Wilson said, glancing towards the door. 

“Of course,” Methos replied with a nod. Wilson seemed to hesitate, and Methos wondered if he wanted to say something or if he was waiting for Methos. Eventually he nodded as well and left.

Kronos came to stand at Methos’s shoulder.

“So where does that leave us?” 

Methos turned to face the other Immortal at the question. They stared for a moment, tension crackling between then before Methos glanced away with a forced smirk.

“With two students and more issues than we know what to do with.”

“We do alright.”

A platitude, but it made them both feel a little more hopeful. 

“Yeah, we do, considering.”

“Considering? What do you mean ‘considering’?”

“I still want that journal.” Methos grinned, pleased and just a little devious. “And you’ve still got to deal with House.”

“You’re trying to punish me, aren’t you?” Even as a 3000-year-old former ruler of the known world, he found that task a little daunting.

…

“House,” Wilson said, stopping in the doorway and taking in House’s appearance. They had only been gone a few hours, it seemed so much longer, but House looked haggard. More than usual. 

Wilson was inordinately glad that Cuddy had waved away the police when Wilson had walked into the lobby. She must have seen something of his experience on his face, because she told them he needed time to gather himself and that he’d be at the station later to give him statement. The officers hadn’t been willing to challenge Cuddy at her fiercest and Wilson had slipped away, far more concerned with seeing House. 

“Wilson,” House said in the same tone.

Wilson moved forward then and wrapped arms around the man he was sure at several times that day that he would never see again. Whatever they were to each other, whatever bond they had, Wilson had needed this.

“Miss me?” House mocked as he brought his arms up hold Wilson to him.

“Of course not,” Wilson said, face buried in the taller man’s shoulder. “I just didn’t want to contemplate what you’d be getting up to without supervision.”

“Of course,” House agreed with more than a little condescension, still not letting go of Wilson.

…

“Sir,” a middle-aged man began, “the safehouse in New Jersey has been destroyed, the personnel killed and the prisoners escaped.”

“Unfortunate, but not entirely unexpected,” an older man with an Italian accent answered.

“What do you want me to do about Kaden and Egan, sir?”

“I think we need to re-evaluate our position. They have both proved formidable and Kaden was not nearly as easily swayed by promises of bloodshed as we were led to believe.”

“He has engaged in a number of fights but when he and Egan aren’t threatened he only hunts demons.”

“Yes, I think that we’ve approached this situation from entirely the wrong angle. I believe that Kaden will follow wherever Egan goes.”

“What do you want me to do, sir?”

“Nothing for now. We need a more suitable plan.”


End file.
